Gunpoint
by SophieRomanoff
Summary: Day 10 of prompt challenge. On a mission, our favourite assassins find themselves surrounded by agents that just won't stay down. With a gun against Natasha's head, will Clint manage to get them out of it before someone gets hurt?


Hello everyone, welcome to day 10! Warnings for general blood and violence, and seizures.

Today I bring you

GUNPOINT

Natasha and Clint stood back to back, both rapidly firing their guns, taking down everyone in a ten foot radius.

Both breathing heavily, the glanced around at the bodies surrounding them.

Neither of them got used to the killing, but in situations like these, it was what Coulson called 'necessary killing'.

The men and women they were taking down had something of immense danger in their basement.

The Intel they'd gotten had been got at great risk to the Shield agents. Two had died and three more were in the infirmary.

The group was ruthless and strong, no hesitation to shoot, stab and blow up anything, or anyone in their way.

Natasha and Clint knew just enough to get the mission done and retrieve the package down below.

Apparently they were searching for a chemical weapon, ready to detonate whilst their group took to the sky to avoid the blast. Apparently it would release a gas that would spread across the entire west coast of America.

They couldn't afford to let any of this group leave alive.

There was another thing that made the group different. Usually, their marks had some prevalence of self-preservation. But the agents of the group were certainly not afraid to die.

They were all disposable and unafraid to run into a firefight they would not win. To protect the cause. To protect the device.

Natasha silently admired that. Often times they were slightly hindered in their attempts to both kill but also to stay alive.

This group fought avidly and all of them dove into a fight with gusto.

"Targets in the hall are down." Clint spoke, pressing the comms closer to his ear. "Advancing to the basement."

"Copy." Came Phil's voice in their ears. "Don't forget to put the device in the case and agents, I don't need to remind you what will happen if you don't succeed."

"Yes Sir." They both spoke, nodding at each other and taking off around the corner.

Natasha followed the blueprints on her phone, only talking to point out their next direction.

They found a few more agents situated along the way but Natasha had no doubt that most of them would be in the basement, protecting their treasure.

They'd made a plan a few days prior and now it was time to put it into action.

Natasha made sure the case was secured to her hip and Clint pulled his bow from his back.

Nodding at one another, Clint signed 'good luck' with his hands and leapt up to the ceiling.

He would be doing what he did best, crawling through the vents into the basements, shooting his bow from up there whilst Natasha took the door and used her gun and her widows bites if they got too close.

Natasha counted down from a minute and burst through the door, shooting immediately.

From above, she heard the soft shutter of the vents opening and the swish as arrows rained down from the skies.

They were the best for a reason, alone they were deadly, and together they were near on apocalyptic.

There were three rings around the device. The first were their strongest, all men, all six feet or taller, and frankly, all built like bricks.

Together, the assassins handled the first ring, bodies dropping around her.

Natasha advanced on the second ring when she heard a voice in her ear.

"Widow, behind you, the guy you just dropped is back up." Clint spoke, notching another arrow and letting it fly.

Natasha turned back to the guy, eyebrows rising. He had a bullet hole straight through his chest, an arrow in his shoulder and yet he was still coming towards her.

"Uh, Phil, the Intel say anything about these guys not staying down?"

"The agents said they were strong and insistent, nothing about them surviving the bullets they pumped into him."

Natasha cursed and ducked, deploying her widow's bites into the man's neck. He shuddered with the electricity, his body going slack as he dropped.

She then began to notice the stirring of the downed men, clambering back to their feet.

Natasha backed off, reloading her gun. "They're still coming!" She shouted, to Clint or Phil she wasn't sure.

She dipped and twirled, firing her guns rapidly and with a killer precision. If hit in the head, they seemed to drop and stay down.

"Aim for the head. I'm not fighting any more damn zombie soldiers." She grunted as she was bodily slammed into the wall, her widow's bites digging into his neck.

"Soldiers-" Came Phil's voice. "Dammit, Widow, the blood results are back from the lab. They're pumped full of a solution similar to that of Captain America. They're making super soldiers."

Natasha cursed again, rolling across the floor and shooting.

Arrows flew around her, now situated only in the centre of their foreheads.

"Brilliant." Came Clint's snarky voice, "Thanks for the heads up."

She could almost hear his eyes rolling.

They were severely outgunned as she finally got to the second ring of agents, she took the same courtesy with them, bullets shooting through their foreheads.

Natasha was bruised and bloody, breathing hard with exertion as she reloaded yet again. In the brief moment between reloading and shooting, the men and a few women now, she realised, we're advancing.

"Little help, Hawk." She grunted, using the last of her widow's bites and cursing shield armoury for not giving her more.

Just her guns now, she ducked a large fist coming towards her and unceremoniously pressed the barrel under his chin and pulled.

Blood splattered over her and she grimaced.

In such close quarters, it was becoming almost impossible to fire her guns. She dropped it and began fight hand to hand, darting and gliding out the way with all the grace of the dancer she'd once been.

She took to slamming their heads down three times before moving to the next. Clint fell into the routine of shooting the ones further from her, as well sticking an arrow in the unconscious ones she'd downed.

A strong body came barrelling towards her, slamming her into the neatest wall. Her head hit the concrete but adrenaline kept her on her feet. A second later, an arrow came whizzing past her face and into the man. He dropped and she didn't have time to thank Clint before another was coming at her.

She didn't pull her punches, but she was starting to think they weren't getting out of there any time soon.

In all the time they'd been fighting, Natasha hadn't heard a single shot fired by any of the agents. It was slightly unnerving, and Natasha knew they were almost stronger than her even without guns.

But then she heard the faint sound of a gun safety being clicked off. Natasha had just enough presence of mind to duck as the bullet was fired.

That gave the others the opportunity they'd been waiting for and two tall men grabbed her shoulders and pushed her up against the door.

Natasha was still and quiet, her eyes taking in the carnage in front of her.

Nearly all the agents were down. The two holding her and the woman, she saw now, with the gun. They had a gun at her temple before she could blink.

"I suggest that unless you want the woman's brains splattered across the room, you come down from there." The woman spoke, her gaze directed at the ceiling.

A few seconds later, Clint was dropping down from the vents and onto all fours.

An arrow was notched in his bow and it was levelled at the woman's head.

"Seriously? Drop it, I won't hesitate to blow her head off." The woman cocked her head.

Clint sighed and carefully placed his precious bow on the ground.

"Come here, on your knees." She breathed, a wide, slightly maniacal grin on her face.

Clint did that, his eyes on Tasha.

The comms in their ears were silent, though they knew Phil was listening and if needed, he would send in reinforcements. If they gave the signal.

Natasha pulled her eyes up to look at the woman, not cringing, even with the cool metal of the barrel pressed to her temple.

"So, now what?" She drawled, arching her eyebrow.

"Who sent you?" The woman growled. "Who dares come into my home, and kill my people?"

Natasha chuckled lowly. "Wouldn't you like to know." She hummed.

Clint openly glared at her, his eyes telling her to shut the hell up.

"Say, Tasha, when we get out of here, should we get pizza?" He asked pointedly.

"Nah, I'd rather burgers." She hummed.

"Understood." Came the soft voice, almost too quiet to hear. That was how Natasha knew the woman holding her hadn't heard the voice.

Pizza meant reinforcements, burgers meant they could handle it.

The woman growled. "I recognise you." She said after a moment, tilting her head. "Russian, despite how well you hide the accent. You're kgb." She accused and Natasha grinned.

"Sure, if that's what you wanna believe." She shrugged.

The woman dug the barrel into her skin.

"I wouldn't test me if I were you." The woman snarled.

"This device will be successful. If you won't tell me who sent you, I'll just have to kill you."

Natasha's eyes met Clint's and she jerked her head down once.

The woman cocked the gun and pressed her finger to the trigger.

"Now!" Natasha shouted and Clint leapt to his feet, forward rolling and sliding hid gun from its holster.

He shot the men holding her in the kneecaps, forcing them down.

Natasha pushed herself forward, grabbing the woman's hair.

Her gun fired once, the shit ringing out in the room.

Clint shot the two men through the head, looking frantically for Natasha.

His partner was on her back on the floor, blood in her hair and trailing down her cheek.

"No. No-" he gasped, just about having the presence of mind to turn to the woman and shoot her through the head before she could fire again.

He rushed over to Natasha's side, one hand falling to her neck as his eyes scanned her head.

The bullet had grazed the side of her head, cutting through her hair and landing in the ground beside her.

She was conscious and her pulse was strong, which he took as a good sign. There was a lot of blood, most dripping into her eyes, but he knew head wounds bled a lot even when none severe. He hastily wiped her eyes with his sleeve and her glazed eyes forced themselves up to his face.

"Stay still." He breathed, pressing his sleeve to the wound.

Her breathing hitched and she winced, tugging her head to the side.

"The device-" She mumbled. "It's still on."

Clint cursed and nodded, touching his comms.

"Sir, Widow is down. Bullet grazed her head."

"Conscious?"

"Yes Sir, barely." He breathed and Coulson heard his frantic calls a second later.

"Tash, hey, open your eyes. Look at me, Nat, that's it. Sir, we need evac."

"They'll be with you in five. The device?"

"Still on, Sir, I'm about to disable it, if Natasha would just keep her eyes open-"

"Go. Now." Romanoff's slurred voice came in his ear.

"I'll sort it, just tell evac to be here."

"Copy. Over." Coulson chipped out.

Clint pulled himself from his partner, unclipped the case from her waist and diving across to the device.

He'd been in the army briefly, he knew how to disable bombs.

He quickly clipped the correct wires and picked up the device, placing it in the case and closing it.

"Done, Sir, I'll grab Widow and head to the roof."

"Understood. Three minutes."

Clint turned to his partner. "Tash, you still with me?" He asked, touching her shoulder.

She shuddered under his hands and her eyes, glazed over stared at the ceiling.

"Natasha?" He murmured, returning his sleeve to her head.

Something akin to a gurgle left her throat and he watched with fear in his chest as her eyes rolled back into her head before the lids fluttered shut.

In seconds, her body was shaking and jerking under his touch.

"Shit. Godammit." He cursed.

"I can't move her, she's seizing-" he grunted, shoving his hands under her head to avoid her slamming her head down.

Her body arched, limbs trembling as her muscles contracted.

"You know what to do, Hawk, stay calm and don't hold her down, cushion her head."

"Yes Sir." He murmured, not able to do anything but hold her head and watch, counting steadily in his head.

120 seconds, 121, 122, 123.

"Hawkeye, evac is landing on the roof."

Clint nodded, though he couldn't see.

"Can't move her yet." He muttered, more to himself as he watched, eyes stricken.

Bloody foam bubbled at her lips and he wished he could wipe it away. She either bitten her tongue or her cheeks and he winced in sympathy, able to imagine the pain.

Slowly, too slowly for Clint's liking, her seizure began to calm. Her limbs twitched a few times before she went still.

Clint pushed himself to his feet and slid his arms underneath her. He lifted her gently, holding her to his chest.

He made his way to the roof, talking softly to her the whole time.

"We should've gone for pizza." He mumbled, climbing up the stairs to the roof.

He headed straight for the quinjet, medics waiting there for him.

"What happened, Barton?"

"A bullet caught her, there's a lot of blood and she hasn't been conscious for five minutes. She had a seizure, it lasted for three minutes, thirteen seconds." He breathed, placing her down on the stretcher they were both all too common with.

Phil was there and he headed to him, watching the medics from the corner of his eyes.

"Here." He muttered, handing the case over.

Phil nodded and took it, placing it in a chest and locking it.

"Job well done, Barton." He hummed, squeezing his shoulder. "We'll debrief tonight, for now go and sit with Natasha. And don't get in the way." He warned.

Clint nodded, heading to his partner. He didn't take her hand, not wanting to get in the way.

Somebody had wiped her mouth and he was grateful. Apart from the blood streaming across her skin, she could've been sleeping.

As he watched, they attached monitors and leads to his partner, her vitals coming up on the screen.

Her heart rate was a little low, he noticed, but steady. Her blood pressure was low but certainly not as bad as it had ever been.

They placed an oxygen mask over her head, probing fingers touching the wound on the side of her head.

He realised silently that they were probably going to have to shave the side of her head.

Just then, the monitors started screeching at them, her heart rate rising and faster.

She twitched before seizing again, a gurgle escaping her lips as she tore through the thin skin of her lips.

"Get me 10 mil of diazepam." One of them ordered as a balled up blanket was shoved under her head.

Clint swallowed the taste of bile, pushing himself back and further out of the way.

They couldn't get to Shield fast enough and he watched with his heart in his throat as they wheeled her down the ramp and straight into medical.

Later that night, Clint sat in the med room, his hand in Natasha's.

She had thick white bandages around her head, a flash of hair peeking out.

They had indeed had to shave the side of her head and he knew beneath the bandages lay rows and layers of stitches.

They'd done every scan and test they could, but they wouldn't know until she woke up if there was any permanent damage.

He had a feeling she would be more upset about her hair.

Two IV's were attached to the crooks of her elbows, one a steady stream of plasma and blood, the other painkillers and anti-seizure meds. She would be incredibly loopy when she woke up, and whilst they both normally laughed about it later, maybe sharing a recording of their partner high on the drugs, he knew this time wouldn't be like that. Not when she could have brain damage.

Clint settled back in the plastic hospital chair, Phil at the door, as they waited for their friend and partner to wake up.

When she did, she blinked rapidly and dragged her gaze to Clint. When she muttered a soft, "my hairs gone isn't it?" And a dopey grin crossed her face, Clint felt his stomach finally settle.

There would be further testing, but he was sure in his heart that no permanent damage had been done. She would be okay; he would take care of her. He would reassure her that her hair looked beautiful, he would help her through whatever physical therapy she would need, he would look after the pills she would need.

When two completely bald agents walked into Shield a week later, no one made fun of them, no one stared.

They walked close together, fingers brushing together. Both of them were smiling, Natasha a little shyly as she rubbed at her ear.

"You're still beautiful to me, Tasha."


End file.
